The store isn’t far from home, just a couple minute drive. It was Tuesday evening, after dinner, and dad said “Why don’t you come to the store with me?” I nodded my reply and went to wait in the car. He came out into the garage a few minutes later juggling his coat, looking through the pockets for his keys; he does that a lot, I thought. When he got in the car I buckled up and let my gaze fix upon the spot just to the right of the front tire, not looking at anything particular. He started the car, backed out, closed the garage door, and off we went. When we pulled into the parking lot, he took the nearest empty spot, near to the lot’s exit, not the store’s entrance like most people do. I unbuckled and was out of the car before he shut the engine off, but I waited next to it while he got out. I kept waiting as he opened the back door to get the reusable shopping bags; we wouldn’t want to forget those again. We entered the store together, the automatic sliding door opened sluggishly, and split up after the entrance vestibule merged with the main floor of the store. My task was to get a loaf of bread. The bread isle was close to the entrance, so I walked slowly over to it. When I got there, I saw the wall of bread, fully stocked in all of its baked glory.

You didn’t expect this many choices, did you? In the fifties, this would’ve been easy: white or wheat. It isn’t so simple now, in the two thousands, you realize when you stop in front of the bread rack. In front of you are a number of choices: the top shelf is the organic, natural, “green” hippie-bread, spendy but good. Below that is the name brand, over marketed, plastic encased bread that you grew up on. Closest to the ground is the store brand, the imitation bread. You know it’s the same ingredients, and basically the same taste, but what does the cheap brand say about you? That you’re cheap? Possibly. You don’t want people to think that; you’re not cheap. You put down the loaf you’d been weighing and reach for the top shelf, but you stop yourself halfway. Do you want people to think you’re a naturalist? Think that you shun conventional products? No, you don’t want that either, so you reach for the bread that everyone knows, in it’s white plastic, polka-dot bag. You’re satisfied with your choice and turn away, gently squeezing your chosen bread, more from habit then reason. You can stand to be though of as average, like you’re bread. Middle crust is all right with you. You can take white or wheat; it’s basically the same to you. The bread you eat reflects on you and you don’t want people to think you’re better than them, or even worse than them, so you go with the middle shelf bread. Good choice.

The young man met up with an older man, presumably his father, just outside the express lane. They exchanged a few words, and then unloaded their cart onto the conveyor belt. Milk, cereal, canned goods, frozen vegetables, and lastly a loaf of bread were laid onto the rubbery surface. They unloaded the cart together, the younger one handing the groceries from the cart to the older one to put on the belt. When they got up to the cashier, the older man pulled out his wallet and the younger one pushed the cart to the other end of the lane. The cashier scanned the groceries and placed them, as he was trained to do, into the reusable bags: cans on the bottom, bread on top. When he announced the total, he handed the bags to the younger man, who put them into the cart and got ready to push it away. The older man paid with a credit card, thanked the cashier, took his receipt and left, leading the cart with one hand, while the younger man pushed it. They walked out of the door, passing another shopper wordlessly, and headed back to their car. The younger one opened the back hatch and loaded the bags into it, while the older man started up the car. After he finished putting the bags away, he shut the door and rolled the cart over to the nearest cart corral and left in there. When he returned to the car, the old man had pulled out of the parking spot and was ready to go. The younger man entered the passenger side and buckled up as the older man drove away, back to their home.